


Strawberry Kisses

by TheLongRoadHome



Category: Uta no Prince-sama
Genre: Dessert & Sweets, Late Night Conversations, M/M, Moonlight, Roommates, Walks In The Woods
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-05
Updated: 2015-04-05
Packaged: 2018-03-21 10:23:40
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,927
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3688677
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheLongRoadHome/pseuds/TheLongRoadHome
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Love is forbidden, but eating sweets is not.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Strawberry Kisses

It had occurred to Tokiya very early on, upon meeting his new roommate at Saotome academy, that the slim chance of getting himself another debut might not be worth the annoyance he would feel at having to constantly pick up the pieces of one Ittoki Otoya’s life. The first week was filled with Otoya’s inane questions about his alter ego, HAYATO’s career, and what it was like to be a celebrity’s ‘brother’. One the redhead had finally got the message that Tokiya _really_ didn’t want to talk about some idiotic pop star, especially when it concerned his inability to muster any feeling in his songs anymore, Otoya started questioning him about his parents, and then when that too failed, he would constantly ask for advice on all matters of singing and song writing.

Tokiya would have almost been able to bear it, if it hadn’t been for the barrage of mess, noise, and general disruption that tended to invade his side of the room when he turned a blind eye for more than ten minutes. It had become a daily ritual to clean up after Ittoki and then take a long walk, in order to keep calm and prevent his temper from getting the better of him.

For some reason he couldn’t bear the thought of loosing it with Otoya, no matter how bad their room got. He supposed it was something to do with how earnest the boy was; often following him around the room as he tidied, apologising constantly but often making the job more difficult, leaving Tokiya to storm out on his walk the moment the last bit of mess had been put away.

He’d first met Nanami Haruka on one such walk, and in truth, he’d been incredibly rude to her not because she had called him ‘HAYATO’, but because she was so much like that damn roommate of his, though his own depression had certainly been part of it.

All too quickly, Otoya had asked Tokiya invasive question after question; where did he go in the evenings? Was there a girl he was trying to keep secret? What shampoo did he use? Who did he get on best with in his class? Tokiya would try to answer the questions, feeling somehow obliged to answer the boy, but would often find Otoya zoning out on his answer, just sat on his bed with a dazed look as if he were just watching Tokiya’s lips move and wasn’t paying attention to the words coming out of them.

By the time the first month was over, Tokiya had descended into an almost trance-like state, going from the academy, to cleaning their room, to work, then to sleep, and so the cycle would repeat. He had made himself late for numerous press events simply because he abhorred the idea of their room being left in such a state. How one human being could be so irritatingly messy was beyond him, even Syo and Natsuki’s room, filled with mess from cooking, sewing, clothes, sports gear and hats was nothing compared to the tidal wave of clutter that seemed to upend itself on their floor on a near-daily basis. Sometimes the mess was utterly nonsensical, and random objects like telescopes; children’s toys and even a unicycle had managed to muscle their way in. Tokiya often had to track down the owners of the various objects.

Pretty soon however, when his manager pulled him up on his tardiness, Tokiya had to admit that the cleaning had become a form of therapy in itself. It was time he had to himself, and in a way, it felt like he was tidying himself up when he was cleaning the room; a positive and constructive process that yielded a quick and decisive result; everything his career was not, funnily enough.

So when he had come back to the room one day, after having Hyuuga-senpai tell him that his songs lacked heart, and that he’d been plucked from S-Class and demoted to spending _all_ his time with his irritating roommate, and had come back to his room feeling empty and in need of some distraction.

Only to find, of all horrors, the room was.

Clean.

 

Otoya had smiled shyly from his bed, having stopped strumming his guitar, and his expression grew sombre.

“I heard what happened with Hyuuga-sensei, I’m sorry Tokiya-kun! I figured you’d have enough on your mind without worrying about my mess so I cleaned and I made your bed and—well, I think Hyuuga is wrong—I bought you some sweets too—I don’t think you deserved that at all—ah! I’m really sorry, I got carried away and ate the strawberry ones—”

Tokiya felt the emptiness inside his chest grow exponentially. What was the point in pretending anymore? Being here was pointless. The whole endeavour of desperately trying to claw back his right to sing, against the will of the very world it seemed, was merely a loosing battle. Cleaning the room was a loosing battle, he felt immediately pathetic that he should take comfort in something so trivial when his career, school-life and what was essentially the very meaning in his existence, were being slowly peeled away from him, like layers of raw skin.

“Just shut up. Leave me alone.” He snapped at the babbling red head. He had turned on his heel and slammed the door behind him before he had to watch Otoya’s face fall with hurt and worry. It wasn’t something he could deal with right now. The tune Ittoki had been playing as he’d walked in lingered in his head like a ghost as he stormed down the hallway and out into the rain. His face felt hot, and the lump in the back of his throat threatened to choke him. It occurred to him halfway down to his favourite evening spot, that he was soaked through and shivering.

He stood at the water’s edge feeling lost and useless, feeling the hole inside open up larger than the lake before him, and he suddenly wondered what just stepping in and drowning would be like. The world was painfully quiet, like it was intentionally ignoring him, goading him to say something, _sing_ something into the immense quiet, and all he could remember was Ittoki’s little guitar tune.

He just sang along to it, and the words were heavy on his tongue.

That was when Haruka had turned up, and he’d been rude to her for a second time, imagining he was talking to an idiot redhead instead.

That was also when he’d seen her hurt expression, and imagined it on Ittoki’s face, and suddenly everything that had previously felt empty, now felt guilty and crushed under some unfathomable pressure. For the second time that night he had run away from someone, and if he had felt pathetic before, it was nothing to what he felt now. He’d sprinted the whole way back till he could see the lights of the academy. It occurred to him on the way that he’d missed work that evening; it had been light when he’d left the room and the sun had now set, almost without him noticing.

“Tokiya-kun!!! Tokiya!!” Otoya’s voice rang out above the wind, full of panic and worry.

He slowed to a walk, not wanting the boy to see him flustered, despite feeling nothing but that on the inside. He studied Otoya, who was still calling his name into the darkness. The boy was soaked, having been caught in the rain, and had obviously been looking for him for a while; his trousers were flecked with globs of mud and hair completely mussed by the wind. When Otoya finally saw him, he tried to stammer something, but Tokiya only stared at Otoya’s hands.

He was still holding the bag of sweets.

Sweets for Tokiya.

The label attached to the bag said; ‘don’t give up!’ in Ittoki’s scribbled handwriting. He had to fight to keep his expression even.

“Ittoki, I apologise.” He blurted, cutting off the stammering teen in mid sentence. It felt unbearably awkward, but he knew he wouldn’t forgive himself if he didn’t apologise. “Thank you for all you’ve done today. I’m so sorry I snapped at you, you didn’t deserve it.” Tokiya bowed, deeper than he ever had before, half because he was sorry, and half because he was trying to hide his expression. There was only a rustle in reply, and Tokiya found himself staring at a strawberry shaped sweet, sat proudly on the palm of Ittoki’s hand.

“There was one left after all, do you like strawberries?” His voice shook, but sounded happy. Tokiya stood straight and looked at him, and could only smile. Otoya was so open and easily read, and right now he still looked so worried. Tokiya nodded in reply, and took the strawberry, thinking how similar Ittoki’s hair colour was to the pallor of the fruit, and put it to his lips.

They had walked inside together, Tokiya holding doors open for his roommate, a part of him still feeling guilty. The strawberry sweet tasted wonderful.

“So strawberries are your favourite then?” He asked the boy trailing behind him.

“No, Raspberries!” Ittoki blurted, hints of sadness washing out of his features, “I’m addicted to them. I didn’t know which ones you’d prefer so I just got you lots of different ones, I hope you—”

“I like them.” Tokiya confimed. “Thank you.”

“What fruit is your favourite?” Ittoki asked sheepishly.

Tokiya shrugged. “I don’t know. I suppose I’ll just have to try them all and let you know.” Ittoki smiled then, and it was like a beam of sunlight had broken open the hole Tokiya had dug for himself. They talked all the way back to the room, dried off and got changed, Tokiya asking little questions and Ittoki talking about anything that came to mind. He discovered that he actually rather liked listening to Ittoki, he liked the musical sound of his voice which seemed made to tell stories. They sampled one of every flavour sweet together, and Ittoki even graciously let him try one of the purple Raspberry sweets he was so covetous of. They talked through most of the night, (about family, school, colleagues, a little about Haruka,) and it signalled the start of a tenuous friendship, which seemed to stir something in Tokiya that he had not felt for a very long time.

“What was the song you were playing earlier?” He asked.

Ittoki grinned. “It’s called ‘Yours to Hold’. It’s by a western band called Skillet.”

They listened to the song together, and Tokiya realised that his version, his lyrics had nothing on this song; they were so honest, kind even. It sounded so different from the approximation he’d come up with so quickly in his mind. Strangely, that was reassuring; he finally learnt something. Perhaps running away from these feelings was not the answer, shutting the world out because it was too painful was no way to make music, nor was it a good way to live. There was not much of a chance he could salvage some happiness from his career or school life, but if there was one, he had to take it, and feel all of the highs and lows along the journey. Perhaps then, he could find his ‘heart’.

In the days after, they got into a new habit of tidying their room together, and sometimes he let Otoya accompany him on his walks, give him advice on song writing and try to answer all the questions the redhead posed to him as truthfully as he was able, and in return Otoya would buy them both sweets, and talk for hours, filling Tokiya’s personal shroud of silence with his musical stories. Tokiya found himself working harder than ever, but this time, his heart was really in it, and he had sweets to eat on the dire days, so even the bad times tasted good.

Tokiya soon decided that no flavour tasted quite as good as Ittoki’s strawberry ones, but he ate the rest of them anyway.

 

 

 

 

It had been a full year of constant slog, and in the moment between the crowd screaming their names and falling out of the lights into the dark of backstage, each and every member of STARISH had fallen in love with music and each other all over again. Natsuki had called all of them in to take a commemorative photo, and all seven of them, including Haruka, giggled their way through the process. They broke up to get changed and go sign some autographs, and Tokiya and Otoya fell through their dressing room door practically breathless. Otoya beamed from ear to ear, as sitting in a little pot on the table were a collection of their favourite fruits. He giddily skipped across the room, high on life and the cheers of the crowd still baying outside. He picked the plumpest strawberry he could find, and turned to Tokiya, who had a faint pink tinge colouring his pale face, and the shyest of grins. It was his eyes that gave away the most, reflecting every light and almost dazzling Ittoki in place.

Otoya walked back over, feeling bold and encouraged into easy foolishness by the buzz that seemed to run through his body. The air itself seemed to be alive. He held the fruit up to Tokiya’s lips, and watched in a trance-like wonder as the fruit disappeared sexily between them. The juice stained the idol’s lips a pretty shade of pink, and with the slight blush that seemed to colour him, he was the picture of Ittoki’s every fantasy. They stared at each other, seeming to be absorbed in the other, and it was Tokiya who reached out first, fingers finding a flushed cheek. His skin smelled sweet and heady. Ittoki couldn’t help but lean in and breath against it.

Then all he knew was the sweetest strawberry kiss, and had it not been for Tokiya’s other hand, gently finding his waist; asking for permission, not demanding, Ittoki might have gone weak at the knees. Otoya was in no way experienced, but he felt too reckless and alive, and in return could only smile into the kiss and thread his fingers into midnight tresses, his other hand finding lean stomach muscles, and grabbing the shirt that covered them as if he were prepared to rip it from its owner. Tokiya pulled them flush together, bodies finding bodies and skin brushing on skin, lips demanding and urgent now, as he backed them both onto their dressing table, rougher than he had perhaps intended. Otoya could taste the strawberry lingering on Tokiya’s tongue, and finding that his knees were becoming ever more unreliable, his thighs found easy purchase around Tokiya’s hips, which only incited little growls and pants from Tokiya’s throat. He had to break for air, and when he did, he found he would be happy to stare for a very long time. They gulped down air and stared at each other. They wondered how on earth this had happened, and if it was real, and if it was a dream, did it have to end?

“We have to sign autographs, Toki-chan.” Otoya whispered, dread colouring his voice as he did not want to have to leave the moment, but afraid he would get carried away.

Tokiya stared, heavy breaths washing over Otoya’s face, making his flush deepen. In reply, deft fingers only lifted a little Raspberry to Otoya’s lips, who moaned and ate compliantly. They stood, panting and staring, until Tokiya backed away, leaving Otoya feeling bare on the dressing table, eyes lidded, legs wantonly apart and mouth hanging open slightly.

“Lets go then,” he said, helping Otoya off the unit, and picking up a handful of strawberries on his way to the door. Otoya felt that this would be a very long autograph session.

As it turned out, he was right. Every few signings, Tokiya would pick up a strawberry from the little pile he’d bought with him, bring it to his lips and look out the corner of his eye at Otoya as he ate.

“Are strawberries your favourite fruit?” One fan bashfully asked.

Tokiya leaned forward and smiled. “I love the colour of them.” He took a little bite out another of the fruits, stealing a sideways gaze at Otoya, who felt himself go red. “The best part” he said, lips lingering on the fruit, “is how sweet they taste.”

The flirtations were doing unimaginable things to the mood of the fans, which were ready to pounce on the man, though Ittoki honestly knew how they felt, it was doing wonderful things to him in all the right places too. It left even Ren giving Tokiya a raised eyebrow at the suggestiveness of his actions. By the time their two hour signing was over, Ittoki practically dragged Tokiya back to their hotel room and pulled him down on the bed after him, both of their shirts being shed and discarded somewhere through hot hands, soft touches and sweet kisses.

Otoya was tempted to call room service for some more of the fruits, but by the time the thought had taken shape, they had become so tangled in sheets and sweat that Otoya wasn’t even sure what way was up anymore, let alone where the phone was. He decided he would have to find a way of getting Tokiya back, and he was adamant that this would somehow happen again.

 

Tokiya had been right; strawberry kisses really did taste the best.


End file.
